


A price I won't pay

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, During Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-10-04
Updated: 2006-10-04
Packaged: 2018-09-03 03:55:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8695510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: "I'm tired of watching you die."





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

Title: A price I won't pay  
Author: Kali  
Pairings/Characters: Sam/Dean  
Rating: R for violence  
Category: Angst  
Word Count: 1026  
Spoilers: None  
Summary: _“I’m tired of watching you die.”_  
Notes/Warnings: Kinda graphic descriptions of blood. Also, Dean dies, but this is not a deathfic, he is living and breathing really. Comments and con crit is loved, because this is kind of a weird fic, even for me :P  
  
  
They were running, stumbling, through tunnels, trying to feel their way in the darkness. Their breathing was loud and harsh in the silence, and blood dripped wetly down Sam’s cheek. One hand was gripping his gun so tight it hurt, and the other was keeping an unsteady hold on Dean’s arms, partly to make sure they didn’t get seperated, partly because he just wanted to feel Dean.  
  
A shrieking, high-pitched howl split the silence and they staggered to a halt, automiatically shifting so that they were back to back, guns raised and aiming at the shadows.  
  
“Position?” Dean hissed, and Sam shook his head, flinging sweaty hair and thick blood out of his eyes.  
  
“Don’t know. Fucking tunnels.”  
  
“Let’s move.”  
  
Sam nodded and they began running again, trying to see some hint of daylight through the thick, sliding shadows. They hadn’t moved more than ten paces before the wall to the left exploded, showering them with rotted wooden planks and chunks of rock. They threw themselves onto the ground, trying to protect themselves from the worst of the rubble.  
  
It all happened so fast after that, Sam could barely keep track of it all. They stood up and then it was there, in front of them, looming and snarling and baring its bloodstained fangs with unrestrained malice. Dean shot it, silver bullets sinking right into his hearts, and Sam followed suit with his iron slugs, but neither had effect and it was rushing at them. Dean dodged to the left while Sam splited to the right, trying to confuse it, but it didn’t even hesitate, lunging straight for Dean.  
  
Dean screamed as it dug its claw into his shoulder, tearing through flesh, muscle and tendons. Sam shouted something, he wasn’t sure what, and shot at it again, but his last two bullets had as little effect as the others and he tossed the gun aside, rushing forward like he was playing football.  
  
The creature turned, holding Dean in front of him with its claws, and then everything seemed to happen at once. Sam stumbled, just once, and the creature pulled and Dean’s agonising scream was cut short, like someone had hit the mute button on a remote, and Sam could only stare in horor at the blood and organs that fountined out of him. His arm fell to the ground with a dull, wet smack, and his head ricocheted off the roof of the tunnel and all Sam could see was red, red blood and red teeth and red claws and red anger and there as just so much blood…  
  
  
  
He woke screaming, with Dean shaking his shoulders and calling his name. Sam didn’t think about it, couldn’t think about it, he just lunged forward and threw himself at his brother with such force that he knocked Dean back so that he was lying on top of him. He pulled at Dean’s shirt, needing to feel the skin underneath, running his hand over his shoulder and confirming that it was still attached to his arm, gliding his palm over his throat and reassuring himself that it was still attached to a head.  
  
“Dude, what the hell? Sam, what’s wrong? Sammy?”  
  
Sam couldn’t answer Dean’s questions, could barely hear them over the blood pounding in his ears. He laid his palm over Dean’s chest, feeling the steady but slightly too fast beat of his heart, and his other hand was on his jugular. He used those twin beatings to ground himself, focusing on them and drumming it into his mind that Dean was alive.  
  
“Sammy? What’s wrong?” Dean’s voice was quieter now, layered with concern, and Sam looked at him for the first time, painfully aware of the tears sparkling in his eyes. He tried to think of something to say, some sort of excuse or explanation, but nothing came to mind. He didn’t know how to explain to Dean what had just happened, how real it had all felt, how his heart had shattered into pieces as he watched his brother, the only person he had left, get ripped apart.  
  
He swallowed thickly and licked his dry, cracked lips. His voice, when he spoke, was scratchy and hoarse from his screams.  
  
“I’m tired of watching you die.”  
  
Dean’s eyes widened with understanding and then his arms were tightening around Sam, holding him tight, fingers threading through his hair.  
  
“I’m not dead, baby brother,” he murmured. “I’m not gonna die on you.”  
  
“But you have,” Sam croaked. “Three times, Dean. Three times I’ve seen you die. I can’t… I can’t go through that, Dean. You can’t leave me.”  
  
“I won’t. I promise, Sam.”  
  
Sam shuddered and jerked away, pushing himself unsteadily off the bed. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” he muttered, before stumbling into the bathroom and slamming the door. Dean let him hide for a few minutes, mostly because he needed those minutes to gather his own thoughts, but then he was staggering to the bathroom and not even bothering to knock.  
  
Sam was leaning over the sink, the cold water running and his face soaking wet, heavy droplets dripping off his hair and nose and chin. He didn’t look up as Dean walked in and stood behind him, wrapping his arms around his waist.  
  
“You know the risks of this job, Sammy,” Dean murmured, and Sam shivered against him.  
  
“The risk is too high,” he muttered, his voice still shaking. “I won’t… I can’t… Christ, Dean.”  
  
Dean frowned, not certain what to say next, and for a long time they just stood there. He could feel Sam’s trembling lessen, could feel it as Sam started to put the nightmare/vision behind him, at least enough for him to function properly. He waited until Sam was no longer shaking before letting his lips twist in a devilish grin and leaning over, molding himself against Sam’s back so that his chin was resting on his younger brother’s shoulder.  
  
“Did I at least leave a good-looking corpse?” he murmured into his ear, and won a shaky little laugh.  
  
“Jerk.”  
  
Dean smiled again, softer this time and with true emotion behind it. “Yeah,” he agreed quietly, “But I’m your jerk.”  
 


End file.
